Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Must I wear only masks that don’t sit for a Brit
Would you blush if I stripped from my native skin

Should I beat on my chest I’m a ghetto poet
Who discorded his kind as they couldn’t know it

Should I foot it featly as a Punjab in Punglish
Sold on an island wrecked by the British

Did you make me for the gap in the market
Did I make me for the gap in the market

Does it feel good in the gap in the market
Does it feel gooey in the gap in the market…

Will I flame on the tree that your canon has stoked
Will I thistle at the bole where a bull-dog cocked

Should I talk with the chalk of my white inside
On the board of my minstrel-blacked outside

Should I bleach my bile-name or mash it to a stink
Should I read for you straight or Gunga Din this gig

Did you make me for the gap in the market
Did I make me for the gap in the market

Do I need to be good in the gap in the market
Do I need to be gooey in the gap in the market…

As I’ve worn a sari bride and an English rose
Can I cream off awards from your melting-pot phase

Do you medal yourself when you meddle with my type
If I go up di spectrum how far can ju dye

More than your shell-like, your clack applause
What bothers me is whether you’ll boo me if I balls

Out of Indian!